


Turquoise Hearts

by Yuliares



Category: Mой нежно любимый детектив | My Dearly Beloved Detective (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Asexual Character, BFFs, F/F, F/M, Friendship is Magic, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuliares/pseuds/Yuliares
Summary: Post-canon fix-it with a happy ending for everyone! In which Mr. Green intervenes and Shirley refinds her footing.She reads book after book of love poems, while the record spits romantic lines that tangle across the office and trip her as she tries to follow them.Jane is no longer her assistant, having set aside her career to be a wife. She visits every weekend and leaves promptly at 5pm to have dinner at her husband’s side.Shirley can’t bring herself to look at the envelope of new applicants.It is, altogether, miserable.This genderbend Russian film (including musical numbers) is available on youtube with subtitles.
Relationships: Jane Watson/Robbie Summers, Shirley Holmes/Jane Watson (My Dearly Beloved Detective)
Kudos: 1





	Turquoise Hearts

There’s a new schedule now.

Once a week, Shirley Holmes dons a veil and takes the long walk to the jailhouse. The squeal of an unoiled hinge marks the start of an hour within which to weather poems and zealous song. Sitting on the hard bench, it feels as if she’s the one wearing the cuffs.

Inspector Lester meets her at the entrance of the jailhouse, offering her a stiff arm, and walks her home. Attempts at conversation are pedestrian and, increasingly, brief. He asks after her visit, and she struggles to respond, sure that if she opens her mouth, sea water will spill out. Her mind feels adrift and lost in fog, and when she swallows, she tastes salt. He tips her hat to her when they reach her door, and says “Ms. Holmes,” before turning back the way he came.

She looks forward to the day that they might walk in complete silence.

She reads book after book of love poems, while the record spits romantic lines that tangle across the office and trip her as she tries to follow them.

Jane is no longer her assistant, having set aside her career to be a wife. She visits every weekend and leaves promptly at 5pm to have dinner at her husband’s side.

Shirley can’t bring herself to look at the envelope of new applicants.

It is, altogether, miserable.

~

Another day creeps silently into evening. Since the scandal, clients have been sparse, the papers once again reminding readers that Sherlock Holmes is not, in fact, a real man, and emphasizing her own status as an unusual woman.

Therefore, she is not surprised when the footsteps up the office stairs are the familiar tread of Mr. Green, passing by in the outer hallways. This time, though, the steps pause, and she hears the door open.

“Ms. Holmes,” says Mr. Green. “If I might have a moment.”

Shirley looks up from the small book of poetry spread open upon the desk in surprise. It is rare for Mr. Green to come to her - usually it’s the other way around. “Of course, Mr. Green.”

He tips his head forward slightly. “Thank you, miss.”

“Please, have a seat,” she says, waving to the chair, but he shakes his head.

“I will be brief,” he says, and straightens his shoulders, resting both hands in front of himself. It is a very formal pose, and Shirley straightens in response.

“Ms. Holmes,” declares Mr. Green. “Your demeanor of late has been most upsetting. While I understand that recent events have had an understandable effect on you, it has now been a month, and you continue to ignore your duty to this agency. You throw yourself into the studies of the heart while ignoring those more reliable sciences that have always served you well.”

“Mr. Green!” cries Shirley, stung.

“You are a very intelligent woman, and I beg you to remember it,” he adds severely. “I have served at this agency for over nine years, and your residency has been it’s highlight.”

“Mr. Green,” she repeats, more softly, and feels her cheeks flush with shame.

“I hope you will forgive my candid words, Miss,” says Mr. Green. “And that you might reflect on them tonight. I shall now take my leave for the evening, and will see you in the morning.”

And with a small bow, he turns and leaves, the latch of the door clicking shut behind him. She stares at the door, unmoving, for quite some time. Had things really gotten so out of hand? She thinks of the stack of applicants, and the empty gun gallery. Even the latest criminal reports sit, untouched, only spared from dust thanks to Mr. Green’s impeccable cleaning.

With a decisive move, Shirley Holmes reaches out, and closes the book of poetry. 

~

She meets with the lawyers in the morning, before she talks the long walk to the jailhouse. There’s a spring to her step, and even after 50 minutes of listening to what seems to be an original musical piece. It is, as always, about her.

This time, it doesn’t set her adrift.

“Jose. I spoke again with the lawyers about a suspension for your sentence,” she tells him, once he’s done. “If you agree to cooperate, then I shall continue to visit you once a week for the rest of the year,” Shirley informs the Torero. “Surely your voice would sound nicer outside of these walls. And you must miss your musical accompaniment.”

His bushy eyebrows rise. “ _ Es verdad? _ ”

“ _ Si _ . I shall continue to meet with you, and you can continue to teach me about  _ la romanza,  _ and your native tongue as well. Please do assist my man as best you can.”

“ _ Mi señora _ ,” he says, as she rises from the hard bench, feeling more herself than she has in quite some time. 

There’s one wheel, put into motion. Now, on to the next.

Mr. Lester, as always, awaits her at the gate, and she takes his arm automatically.

“How was your visit, Ms. Sherlock,” he inquires prefunctorily.

“An hour,” she says. “But hopefully soon, I will no longer be required to walk to the jailhouse. I have asked him to work with my lawyers.”

“But you have tried that before.”

“This time, I have changed the terms.”

This draws her companion up short, and his arm tightens. “Ms. Sherlock - surely not!”

“Surely not what?” she looks at his face. “Oh, for heavens - I’m not marrying him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I have simply agreed to continue meeting with him.”

“Ah,” says the inspector, “I beg your pardon.”

“We leave that to the criminals, Mr. Lester,” Shirley tells him, smiling wryly, before patting his hand. “But there is something I must discuss with you as well. Your company is no burden, but I must admit that I find our walks quite dull. I suspect you are too much of a gentleman to admit it, but I am sure you feel the same.”

“Ah,” stalls Mr. Lester, frowning. “Well. How can one be bored in the company of a beautiful woman?”

“By having nothing to talk about.” Shirley says firmly. “But we can change that. Let us work together, Mr. Lester, as professionals. Let me consult with your police force.”

“I can’t let a woman - even one as extraordinary as you, Miss - just walk onto crime scenes!”

“Of course not,” demurs Shirley. “That is why you shall accompany me. Surely then we will have much to discuss, don’t you think? And then how can the minister find fault, when the police are always getting some of the credit, hmm?”

~

Shirley is striding down down main street when she seems a familiar silhouette, and… well, she can’t resist.

“Lovely evening, miss,” she says brightly. “Charlie Langston, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“And to - why - it can’t be!” cries Jane.

“”Shh,” says Shirley, stepping in closer. “You’ll ruin my cover.”

“But - how?”

“My disguise is much improved, yes?”

“It’s extraordinary! You’ve even changed the shape of your face.”

“Trust me, it’s quite the hassle,” mutters Shirley.

“You must tell me everything.”

“Tomorrow,” promises Shirley, grinning. “Now, I must go mingle with the gentlemen.”

“Of course,” says Jane, and smiles fondly back. “Good eve, sir,” she adds, louder, and Shirley tips her hat jauntily as she continues down the street.

~

“I learned the art from theater folks,” says Shirley, showing the molding clay to Jane. “You apply it to your face and it can be shaped into quite a passable jawline.”

“And have you stopped wearing makeup?” Jane asks, grinning into her teacup.

Shirley looks down, ashamed. “I am sorry, Jane. That day, I asked too much.”

“Yes, you did, but I forgive you. I can’t be a man - I don’t  _ want _ to be a man. You do understand, don’t you?”

“No,” Shirley says bluntly. “I would be a man in a heartbeat. But,” she adds, softening. “I do prefer you as a woman.”

“If you were a man,” Jane points out, “I should never have met you. They would never have hired a female assistant for a man.”

“Then I suppose I must be glad I am a woman after all,” concedes Shirley. “There is more to being a gentleman than just the appearance, however, and so I have found a tutor who is teaching me to walk and speak like a man as well.”

“Wherever did you find such an instructor?”

“Robbing a home, naturally,” says Shirley. “For a pittance. Seeing he was down on his luck, the easiest way to turn him from crime seemed to gainfully employ him, and now he comes by once a week.”

“What an exciting life you lead,” sighs Jane. “I do miss it, sometimes.”

“You could still accompany me, occasionally.” says Shirley. “Mr. Green would be happy to see you. Besides, I could use your help interviewing for a new assistant.”

~

The case is not hard, but has a delightful bit of trickery in an unexpected double-cross amongst the villains, deduced amongst the shards of broken crockery and a spilled inkwell.

“No wonder you’re lonely,” muses Shirley, arm in arm with the Inspector. “You keep the company of idiots.”

“How can you say that - Mr. Biggs is a very loyal man.”

“I did not say a name, Mr. Lester,” counters Shirley. “Everyone is an idiot occasionally - it is the ones who are consistent that you must watch out for.”

He huffs. “Easy for you to say.”

“It is true, I have been fortunate.” She turns to face him. “You should come by for tea this weekend, Mr. Lester. I’d like to introduce you to a former client, Ms. Morstan.”

“Holmes, you know I’m no good with women. I can’t talk about my work, for it upsets them - and what else is there to talk about?”

“You talk to me all the time.”

“But you’re different.”

“I think you’ll find Ms. Morstan to be different as well, and hard to unsettle. She is a nurse in the trauma unit.”

“Heavens! How on earth did she find a job there?”

“You’ll have to ask her yourself - though I’m hoping she’ll consider working for me instead. I expect to see you at one in the afternoon, Mr. Lester.”

~

Shortly after the birth of her son, Jane begins to stop by the office during the week.

“Can you believe it?” asks Jane, cradling her curly-hair babe. “It’s been one full year since the case of the emerald ring, where we finally captured John Haver. We drank coffee, right here-”

“I said the ring would go well with your dress,” recalls Shirley.

“And I said I didn’t wear it anymore!” laughs Jane. “Alas, none of my dresses fit anymore, no thanks to you, mister,” she adds, chucking little Charles under the chin.

“... I am sorry I needled you about the turquoise dress,” says Shirley. “You did look lovely in it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about such old quarrels,” says Jane, tucking the blanket more tightly around Charles as he yawns. 

Shirley looks hard at the tablecloth, blinking quickly. “I was jealous. Clients would stare, and I was angry at you for letting them leer at you so. It was unfair of me. Forgive me?”

“Shirley!”

“Friends are honest with each other, no? Surely I’ve said more shocking things.”

“Really, sometimes you are too much,” says Jane.

“So I have been told,” Shirley agrees grimly, before forcing herself to a more cheery tone. “Shall we go for a ride this weekend? The weather seems nice for it. Mr. Green can watch Charles.”

“Oh, yes!” cries Jane, seizing upon the change of topic. “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the stables.”

“Did you know that I’ve hired the would-be burglar who has been teaching me to walk as a man? He has a history as an ostler, as well as gardener and general handyman. His name is Mr. Moran - I shall introduce you.”

~

“Mr. Green,” she says, and he spins from the upper window, surprised.

“Miss,” he says stiffly, as she steps up beside him to see Mr. Moran on the grounds, spade in hand, digging a hole for a rose bush.

Her mind flies through the last couple weeks - Mr. Green, always formal, but now trimming his receding hairline more regularly, and with a smart new waistcoat.

“He’s quite industrious, don’t you think?” she says casually. “I’ve always found it to be a good indicator of character.”

“Yes, miss,” says Mr. Green.

She smiles blandly at him. “I’m glad you have more company in the house, Mr. Green. I should hate to lose you if you were to get lonely.”

Ah, there - the faintest hint of a blush. “I would never, miss.”

“I know,” says Shirley, before turning away. “Please carry on - I will be going out this evening to attend a lecture.”

~

“What’s wrong?” asks Shirley. Jane is clearly distracted, and has left Charles with his nursemaid for her afternoon visit.

“Oh, Shirley - you were right, of course,” cries Jane, twisting her gloves. “Robbie may have been a hero in the moment in winning my affections, but from one day to the next, he’s still a gambler, even now that we have a son to consider.”

“Men rarely change their habits,” observes Shirley. “But there are worse vices. Is there anything else?”

“I’ve given him an ultimatum,” says Jane firmly. “If he must gamble, then he must get a job. He might be able to pull the wool over some other woman’s eyes, but not mine!” 

Jane laughs, then sighs. “None of it is so terrible, really. I suppose I just miss my old life sometimes. Perhaps when Charles is grown, I shall retire and go on new adventures. I am quite happy, despite my complaints, and Robbie is quite sweet. What about you? Will you not get married?”

“I think not. I have spent the last two years studying romantic poems and songs with the  _ Torero _ , and while it has given me new insight on criminal motivation,” she turns to wave at her small collection of poems, “I have yet to find a man that evokes such feelings.”

“I see,” says Jane, and pauses carefully, as if on the brink of a great ledge. “And what about,” she says finally, softly, “A woman?”

Startled, Shirley snaps around to stare at her. She can feel her heartbeat elevating.

“You, of course,” she says, distantly.

“Shirley,” says Jane, very seriously, and as Shirley stares, puts her bare hand out on the table, palm up. “...do you love me as a man?”

“My love is more chaste, I think,” says Shirley, drawing her own hand in, towards her chest. “I wish only for your company and affection.”

“Then you shall have it,” promises Jane, leaning forward, and the fingers of her hand flex. “If you want it.”

“Yes,” breathes Shirley, and carefully reaches out to meet Jane’s hand, it’s quick heartbeat warm beneath her fingertips.

~

“Jane,” says Shirley warmly, looking up from the tea table. “Where is Charles?”

“With Mr. Green - that child is obsessed with horses,” says Jane fondly, folding her jacket over the arm of a chair. “I promised him if he were good, he could go to visit them right away.”

“And Robbie?”

“Working at the Telecom - he’s a manager, can you imagine? He says it’s a good thing he’s married to me, or he’d be intimidated by all the bright young women working as operators.”

“None so bright as you,” says Shirley, lips quirking.

“Flatterer,” scolds Jane, and sweeps over to her side to smile down at her. “Now - I read about the jewelry robbery in the papers.”

“Of course,” says Shirley, tilting her head back for Jane’s lips to sweetly brush over her own. “They missed all the interesting parts, of course.”

“Of course,” says Jane, and settles into the chair beside her, the skirts of her turquoise dress rustling. “You must tell me  _ everything _ .”

~

Many, many years later, following the death of her husband, the widow Mrs. Jane Summers retired to the countryside with her lifelong friend, Ms. Shirley Holmes. They could often be seen walking the trails, arm in arm, and quickly gained a reputation in the small town for their fierce intellect and excellent honey, which they often mailed to Mrs. Summer’s son, who had followed in his father’s steps to work at the Post Office after the decline of the telegram.


End file.
